"Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. "Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. On the left there were doors communicating with the King's Bench Ward and the Stone Ward, two large holds on the Master Debtors' side. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her.
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